


Don't Count Me Out

by tealtier



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, wrestling violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealtier/pseuds/tealtier
Summary: Destruction in Hiroshima ended with Suzuki's arm around Naito's neck again. Bushi is there to hold him up.





	Don't Count Me Out

**Author's Note:**

> The ending of Destruction in Hiroshima's LIJ vs. Suzuki-gun match was just asking for some h/c bullshit. I cannot deny the call.

At some point, the only thing Naito could hear was the way his ears were ringing and the thunderous pounding of his heart. The crowd had all but melted into a background noise that sounded like static as his vision darkened at the edges, graying out with the fleeting gasps for oxygen with Suzuki's forearm still crushing into his throat. 

The pressure leaves and oxygen rushes back into starving lungs. Trainees and staff are all talking at once, prodding at him and asking if he is all right. Naito can't get the words out, not past the desperate attempts to breathe again between coughs. 

It seemed like only a second before there was another burst of pain, now from his screaming shoulder joint. He could hear Bushi close by before the grip was gone and Bushi cried out. Things started to black out again, blur in to a confusing mess as the crowd noise returned to ring in his ears.

His vision returns, swimming as he looks up at the bright lights of the venue. He turns his head to the side, away from the light and tries to focus on the approaching boots. He feels like he's underwater, everything moving at an inconsistent pace.

"...stand?" he can pick up Sanada's voice through the buzzing noise.

"Medical team….carry out…" he can't recognize that voice, but he tries to focus on the words. He wants to tell them to not call the medics. He just needs a minute. One minute, he'll be up. He sees the orange of the stretcher, feeling that curl of disgust and fear wind its way through him. 

He won't let himself be stretchered out again. He will leave on his own two feet if his body would just listen.

Bushi's closer now, warmth and familiarity as he crouches while Naito attempts to reach out for him -- fingers stretch out for comfort. Bushi's hand is warm on his shoulder and he can focus his eyes for a second to catch the concern written in his eyes. Unwillingly, his eyes fall shut for a second, but he forces them back open and presses his palm to the floor as he tries to lift himself up. The world spins, but Bushi is right there to hook his arm with his. "I got you," Bushi whispers, quiet of the microphones, "Just breathe. I got you."

The medics hover too closely, but Naito barely remembers lashing out as Bushi helps him to his feet. He's accomplished, he's moving on his own and it lasts only a second when his legs buckle again. 

Bushi's familiar weight is back at his side, hoisting him up and slinging his arm around his shoulders. He stumbles, legs trying to hold weight but he slumps against Bushi's side. The buzzing noise of the crowd is too much, the lights are too much, the way he still felt like he was choking.

He doesn't remember how they made it backstage. He doesn't remember the medics and the trip down the hallways to quiet room in the back.

Naito comes back to himself, propped up against the cool plaster wall and halfway in Bushi's lap as he gently lifted the water bottle back to his lips. His manicured hand cupping under his chin as he tilts it back. The cold water helps through the fog and Bushi peers at him, looking in his eyes before he asks, "You with me?"

"The match…?" Naito questions, his voice wrecked even to his own ears. Bushi hummed a little under his breath, "We won," Bushi says as if it was obvious and a pointless fact, "Suzuki grabbed at you twice. I'm sorry I went to turn back to the ring then he was there again."

Naito reaches for him, fingers tangled in the hem of Bushi's shirt to pull himself closer. He lets his head drop on Bushi's shoulder as Bushi works to take off his mask, untying and placing it aside. His forehead is creased with worry, touching with light fingertips to Naito's shoulder then neck.

"You wouldn't let the trainers look at you," Bushi tries to sound casual, but the worry is still thick in his voice. Naito didn't move, just gently pressing his face in the crook of Bushi's neck and breathing slowly. "Don't like 'em. Just need you," Naito mutters and hears Bushi's soft sigh.

"One day I won't be there to hold you up," Bushi tried to threaten, but it carried no weight. They both knew they were each other's weakness -- their Achilles heel. Just as much as any member of LIJ, but there was the edge of decades of friendship and love entwined that they could feel each other's pain. In their haste to protect each other, they continued to paint targets on their backs.

They fell into a contemplative silence as Naito began to feel a little more like himself. A little more like he could stand on his own two feet again.

"Sanada said he'd bring your bags to the hotel. Just need you to change and we can leave," Bushi tells him, "Think you can?"

"I can dress myself," Naito mutters, the irritation pounds behind his eyes as the headache starts sinking in. Bushi laughs as he squirms free from Naito's grasp, "I know. Come on, we'll take a bath at the hotel together before bed."

Before Bushi could move away, Naito reaches out to grasp his wrist and tugs him in again to kiss him. The kiss tastes like sweat and the smudged black lipstick that ends up on both their faces and on Bushi's teeth. "I'll always be there to hold you up," Naito tells him and Bushi softens with the look of love.

"Of course," Bushi smiles, "Hopefully you won't have to."

"But I will. Whenever."

"I know."

Under all the hurt and still gripping each other's hands to hold themselves upright against the world.

And that is enough.


End file.
